


The Second Thoughts of a Secondhand Person

by ThereBeWhalesHere



Series: Stories about Shine [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Gay, LGBTQ Character, Love, M/M, Original Character(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 08:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21051548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/pseuds/ThereBeWhalesHere
Summary: Valen Dougherty has always been on the outside of life, looking in. It isn't until a chance encounter drags him out of the darkness that he finds something he's never had -- happiness.This story finds Shine and Valen together on a stormy night some months into their relationship, reflecting on the past and, most importantly, looking toward the future.*This is part of the ongoing seriesStories About Shine. It can stand alone, but overlaps with the events of"Holding Out For a Hero"and mentions the events of"The Interview."Might be a good idea to read those before reading this one.





	The Second Thoughts of a Secondhand Person

**Author's Note:**

> _**VERY IMPORTANT NOTE PLEASE READ:**_  
MY WIFE WROTE THIS. I, Liss aka ThereBeWhalesHere, did not! I'm sharing it on my AO3 because she asked me to and preferred not to make her own account. I loved this story with my WHOLE FUCKING HEART, so I really hope you like it too. I just finished proofreading it and I'm STILL crying over how beautiful it is. Please tell her how you feel in the comments! This is the first time she's shared her writing with anyone but me in a LONG time and I REALLY want her to know how good it is. THANK YOU!
> 
> Now, here's a note from Caity, the author, whom you can follow on twitter @WaltzRio:  
Valen is a difficult character to write because so much of who he is occurs up in his own head. So this was my attempt to show how, for him, the connective tissue of memory is SO strong, both over time and in the moment. So he's my baby boy because he's so nervous about everything he does and he's so neurotic and a perfectionist.
> 
> Thank you for reading! This is the very first time I have ever posted anything, quite literally, no exaggeration, so I'm very nervous. I also want to thank my beloved wife for being so supportive of me. She tends to like very short titles, and I like very long titles, so I titled this on purpose in case you aren't sure who wrote it. 
> 
> (Editor's note: Ha ha. She'll never let me forget "Refuge" and "Reassignment".)

** _May, 1986_ **

Valen knew it was Shine by the three crisp knocks at the studio’s front door. He glanced up from the sander towards the workshop’s clock. 8:35 pm, some 20 minutes out before his dinner would be out of the oven. What a clever fellow Shine was, showing up just minutes before the plates would be on the table, as usual. Conveniently timing it right _ every _ time, too. 

Valen wiped the nooks of his hands with a wet rag and set out across the wide studio showroom floor. The dark clouds over Yonkers had delivered on their promise of a springtime shower. The heady pattering over the slate roof overtook the bustle of street traffic. 

The light from the street cast a tint of silver over the dark showroom floor. Valen’s shadow was a pillar shifting and shattering over his show pieces. He watched it move from the corner of his eye. Without the tedium of work to keep it at bay, the voice that crouched in the back of Valen’s brain began to itch at the inside of his skull. 

_ You were at work all day. You will smell disgusting, of sweat and sawdust — _

_ He’ll like that. _

_ — Are you _ sure _ ? _

Shine stood under the porch light with a smile that could part the clouds. A curtain of rain caught the light in brief shimmers of diamonds around him. Every time Valen opened his door to that smile — the one that was always _ so _ glad to see him — his heart leapt into his throat. 

“Why, it's the friendly neighborhood pop star!” Valen said, allowing Shine to step inside from out of the rain. In one of Shine’s hands hung a square gift bag topped with purple tissue.

“In the flesh,” Shine replied with a little suggestive wiggle of his shoulders. Mercy, but he was beautiful, even coming off the street like a wet cat. 

Valen closed the door behind Shine, “Are you lost, little pop star? I am but a humble woodworker,” he said, continuing their tradition of feigning ignorance of each other at the door, “but I’d be happy to lead you through such a tempest of a storm.” 

Shine turned his eyes up at him. His cheeks were flushed with the cold. Valen never much minded that Shine tended to show up without bothering to call, as he was always in a state of missing Shine, even if he wouldn’t admit to himself. He could feel the ends of his nerves thrill with excitement as he turned the handle of his front door. 

Valen got the insane urge to pick him up and spin him around like the prettiest princess at the ball. 

“No, no, I’m here for you.” Shine stepped forward and pressed his fingertips into Valen’s chest, “I heard the sexiest man alive was livin’ in Yonkers. I went on a mighty quest to get a look at that legendary ass.” 

“What a lucky guy he must be,” Valen said, responding to Shine’s touch in turn by anchoring his hands on those narrow hips. 

“Oh, but it’s _ so _ much better than the prophecy said! The music I’m gonna write in homage to that ass!” Shine joked. 

They stood there for a moment, waiting for the other to say something witty in return. When that never came, Valen snorted and Shine heaved out a laugh.

_ You don’t deserve this. _

_ But so long as I have it, I’ll be thankful for it. _

_ Then show him. _

So he did. Valen applied a whisper of pressure to Shine’s back and the other nearly fell forward against him. Another hand moved independently of Valen’s thoughts to cup Shine’s chin, titling his lips upward for a kiss.

Valen knew his kisses were imperfect. He would keep practicing. They needed to be perfect; It was what Shine deserved from a partner. 

Shine hummed into the kiss, “Hmm, you smell amazing, big guy. I wish I could order you at a bar and drink you down.”

“Wouldn’t it taste of sawdust and sweat?” A finger dared to dip into Shine’s waistband, gingerly grazing warm skin. 

Shine laughed, pulling back far enough to look him in the eyes, “You bet. It's your musk. I can’t get enough of it.” He stepped away and gave Valen a glance over, “I musta caught you doing something hot and manly.”

“Like sanding a roll-top desk?” Valen asked with just enough glibness. 

“Yeah, just like that.” Shine fiddled with a tendril of his wet hair, “Can it wait, big guy? I brought you a surprise, that’s all.” He raised the tissue-topped gift bag as his proof. 

“It can wait.” And for once it wasn’t a lie. 

“After a kiss like that, it _ better _,” Shine said, shuffling off his (now rain-ruined) black leather jacket that matched his tight leather pants. The little residual light coming in through the windows caught at the numerous studs in the leather work. All of them for show, Valen had learned. 

He handed it off to Valen who in turn, hung it on the wall hook by the door. Valen (who always made the effort to listen to his beloved) knew that Shine’s jacket was last season, and therefore nothing but rags. At one time it must have cost him the same as Valen’s studio. 

Shine gestured towards the kitchen on the other side of the studio floor. Valen followed, wondering if it was strange to find something lovely in the sight of two shadows falling across the floor space. One too large, too clumsy. The other smooth, with the glide of a dancer. An odd pair, but here they were, cast in silver street light. 

_ You've got the mind of an artist, big guy, _Shine’s voice came to him. 

_ Well then, I wish I worked with marble so I could sculpt that perfect ass of his in that leather _, Valen mentally replied. That particular voice was new. He was learning to live with it. 

“So, uh,” Shine started. Valen heard the lie before he said it. “I had this appointment downtown tonight. Very last minute, they cancelled, and I thought, ‘I wanna surprise my boyfriend. Maybe talk him into letting me spend the night at his place.’” 

Might be true, might not be; Valen didn’t rightly care. Whatever moved Shine out of his high-rise apartment to Valen’s little place on the crust of New York City. Into his arms, into an imperfect kiss. 

“I missed you,” was all he had in reply.

Three words without flourish and they still brought the full bloom of Shine’s smile to his lips. 

“If that’s the case,” Shine said as they crossed into the hallway, “maybe I could take you out. Whaddya say to a movie? Claudia can drive us in this weather.” 

Shine flicked on the kitchen light and Valen blinked past the burn in his eyes. It helped. It gave him a moment to think things over. 

“Do you mind if we stay in? Catch something on my old box upstairs?” Valen asked. He was learning that he could do that with Shine; to ask. All he wanted from tonight was to have Shine all to himself. Maybe it was selfish to want that over a dinner and a movie, where most likely someone would recognize his famous boyfriend. 

Shine deposited the gift bag on the kitchen’s island, “Don’t be silly, I don’t mind cuddling up to you _ at all _ .” Then Shine lifted his nose and smelled the air, “On one condition. You let me have as much as I want of _ whatever _ that smell is.” 

That would be the roast chicken that Valen had in the oven. He had wanted to treat himself with a peppery garlic sauce and warm, homemade bread. It would be more of a treat if he got to share it with Shine. 

“You strike a hard bargain, beloved. I accept your terms.” Valen offered Shine a handshake. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.” 

Shine blushed. The nerve of it — as if he hadn’t been in the running last year for Sexiest Man Alive. The whole of the world’s admiration and Shine still blushed at Valen. 

_ Please, don’t ever let that stop. _

Shine’s eyes fell on the gift bag, “Oh! That’s right!” He pushed the bag across the island and into Valen’s resting hand. “Go ahead, open it.” 

Valen did as he was asked and removed the tuft of tissue. Under that was an untreated pine box that was roughly the size of a loaf of bread. 

“It's a vintage whiskey!” Shine announced before Valen had a chance to pull it out of the bag. “It's from Dublin! I saw it at the fancy booze import store and thought we’d share in on a special occasion sometime.” 

“What's the occasion?” Valen asked, flipping through his mental calendar. He was sure he hadn’t forgotten a birthday or an anniversary. Valen could remember damn near everything, that was his primary problem. 

“I’m famous, you’re gorgeous, and it’s Wednesday.” Shine cheered, leaning over on his elbows and propping his chin into his palms. 

“There is no arguing with that.” Valen replied, except that it was Friday. Valen lifted the wooden lid and peered inside, where a round bottle of amber whiskey was nestled in shredded paper, a wax seal over the stopper. “That looks like the fancy stuff. Are you sure you want to share?” 

Shine leaned over and covered Valen’s hand with his own, “I learned some things about you, big guy. You don’t want me for my money. I get that. That don’t mean I ain’t gonna act like I don’t have green coming out my ears.”

“You should see a doctor about that.” 

“Point is, if I want to get you something expensive, I gotta make sure it’s for the both of us.” Shine’s eyebrows bounced up and down. “Whaddya say? Wanna do some shots, eat dinner over candlelight, then fall asleep watching Bob Vila rip up some rotten wood? You know, go absolutely cra-_ a-azy _ together?” 

Behind Shine, Valen’s eyes unfocused on the tile backsplash, where he imagined scenes of cocaine clouds in the air, super models giggling as their millionaire boyfriends chased them around, champagne bottles popping like the first shots of a surprise invasion.

Valen believed that Shine had put those long nights behind him. But Valen wasn’t inclined to believe that a night watching _ This Old House _ compared to snorting powder off a supermodel’s belly with rolled-up hundred dollar bills.

“Big guy?” Shine asked, slower this time. “You went away again.”

“Oh, apologies.” Valen leaned forward and laid a kiss on Shine’s forehead as if he was planting a seed into the soil. “May I clean up the workshop before we settle in?” 

“If you _ must _,” Shine groaned, “don’t take too long, though. I ain’t seen you all week.” 

Valen let himself linger in Shine’s smile a moment before he dropped back into the hallway. The faint sound of late-night NPR grew louder as he approached the closed door to his workshop. He could tune his radio a smidge up, a smidge down, and there was a good chance he would hear one of Shine’s newest singles.

Hearing the songs on the radio didn’t hold a candle to hearing them muddled through over the sound of a running shower. He silently apologized to his beloved, but “Summer Snowclouds_ ” _ sounded better to him hummed around a mouthful of toothpaste. 

Valen flicked off the evening news and went about putting away his tools. Each tool had its place. A number on the tool’s handle, a corresponding number on the peg wall, a matching outline. Everything in order as he needed it to be. 

As he crossed the room, Valen patted the roll-top desk to apologize. He hung his old leather work apron up on the proper hook by the door, and squeezed the leather, so soft with it’s age, worn from nearly 20 years of use. 

He gave a final look over his shop. There was only one thing he found out of place among the wood and steel, but he was glad to see it there: a framed copy of Shine’s _ Newsweek _ cover. It was a pond of purple among the the table’s denizens of chisels and veiners. 

Valen didn’t have a proper picture of Shine to hang around the shop. This was all he had to hand, unforntanley, because the cover didn’t rightly do the man himself justice. Shine’s lips were pursed in sexual intent, not smiling. His skin was clear and crisp, likely polished up in some back room. The world didn’t know that Shine’s natural hair color was a mousy brown. 

_ What does it mean to be bisexual? _ The cover read just off to the side of Shine’s cocked, rounded hips. 

_ It means he is in my kitchen waiting on his next smooch _ , Valen mentally answered. He stood up a little straighter, _ from me, his boyfriend _. 

Valen visited the workshop’s little bathroom and scrubbed the day’s work off his face. He reminded himself that he didn’t need to be at his Sunday best, even if Shine was half hair product and half experimental skincare. Shine was glitter, Valen was sawdust. 

Valen returned to the kitchen glad to see that Shine was peeking into the oven, scouting out his dinner. While Valen had been closing down his shop, Shine must have slipped away to Valen’s bedroom upstairs and snatched up one of his thickest flannel shirts. He wore the mustard yellow checks under his own loose-knit pink sweater. The bottom hem of the old shirt hung down almost to his knees like a kilt. 

“Now there is a look for _ Rogue _.” Valen said. 

Shine let out an inelegant bark of a laugh, “You mean _ Vouge _, you beautiful goon!” He lifted the shirt in a curtsy, “What’cha think?” 

“Fashion forward,” Valen replied, tapping his chin, “if the future of fashion was dystopian.”

Shine tossed his head when he laughed, “Hey, it isn’t my fault that you keep ya shop colder than the arctic circle. What do you have against flat nipples?” 

_ Never gave nipples any consideration in my life _, Valen didn’t say. 

“It would cost me a fortune to heat this place,” he said instead. The building itself had been an auto shop since the 1950s. By the time Valen had set down the down payment, it was already over three years abandoned. He had to evict the gang of raccoons and the squirrel squatters. 

Valen had remodeled the place from the tile to the rafters over the past years. He was proud of that. Maybe someday he would tell Shine about it, if he could convince himself to do so. 

Shine lifted himself up to sit on the kitchen counter, looked over his shoulder and found Valen’s glass, and held it out to him. The clink of the ice rang out in invitation. 

He crossed the room and took up the little glass of oak-smelling whiskey. One of Shine’s legs snaked behind him and brought him even closer. 

“I wish you’d let me spoil you more,” Shine said, low and intent. “You want me to cover the bills so you ain’t living like a penguin?”

“No, I can—”

“Can do it yourself, I know. What if I call a few people? Get some AC in here for the summer?” It wasn’t the first time he had asked. Shine’s leg traveled up over the swell of Valen’s calf. It made his thoughts go fuzzy and Shine damn well knew that. 

“You should be thinking about how you want _ me _ to spoil _ you _ , dear thing.” Valen hummed. That wasn’t what he wanted to say. Shine did a fine job spoiling himself without a spare thought to his bank account. What he _ needed _ was someone to take care of him. Valen would like the job, if he was to be so lucky. 

Shine gave him a wicked smile, “Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?” 

Valen’s free hand fell on his hip. He spoke in a low roll, worried that this moment between them was tethered together with nothing but lace.

“I’m a poor gift myself, but…” he squeezed Shine’s hip, “I can give you a warm flannel shirt when you’re cold. A fresh cup of coffee on your bedside table in the morning. And, if you’ve been behavin’ yourself and especially if you haven’t, a sloppy good morning kiss.”

Shine’s expression collapsed. 

_ — Oh shit, you idiot, you said something wrong. _

_ Why the fuck did you think that would have — _

“Oh, is that all, big guy?” Shine replied, watery and broken. 

Valen stammered and searched for something to say to misdirect. “Well, I... uh. I know a few swears in Gaelic if you want—”

He didn't get to finish. Shine rested his head on Valen’s chest and let out a feathery laugh, “This is so selfish to say, but fuck me, I’m so glad you don’t know how wonderful you are.” Shine breathed him in. “Or else you’d be out with someone else right now.” 

“More likely, I’d be home alone.” Valen replied. 

Shine looked in the eyes and raised his glass, “I'll toast to that.”

“To what?”

Shine tossed his head, “To us meetin’ each other before we met some other stupid schmuck.”

“Cheers,” Valen returned and clinked their glasses together. 

** _November, 1985_ **

_ Clink! _

“Now what were we talking about?” The little purple haired fellow said, “Oh, that’s right! You’re _ sad _!” 

Nothing about Valen’s present situation made very much sense to him. Perhaps if he took a deep breath and tried to put it all into a neat line — a sequence of events, in reverse order, to figure out exactly what part of his night had parked him on this barstool. 

Okay then. Might as well start with the most obvious thing. 

There was a young man by the name of Shine poured over the barstool next to him. Possibly, if Valen dared to let himself believe it, _ flirting _ with him. Grim looks and polite dismissals had all failed to urge him away.

The world was meant to be a stranger to Valen. He was unpracticed in what to do, what to say, when it decided to be friendly to him again. 

Valen had stumbled — _ accidentally _— into one of Manhattan’s discreet gay bars. His foster cousin, Eileen, had what she called a ‘little wifey’ that she had met a few years back in Dublin. Valen had met Dottie a few times — a lovely lass — and he would never deny his cousin the love of her life.

In that way, it mattered to him very little the gender of the body next to him. He only needed to know if his refusals should be directed to a ‘ma’am’ or a ‘sir’ or someone who would rather not be defined. 

“Tell your buddy Shine all about it, big guy,” his companion slurred. 

Which brought him to why he was at a bar in the first place. How ungrateful would Valen have to be to turn away a friendly face in New York City? He might as well shoot the last dodo bird. 

But telling this kid that Valen was, in the very literal sense of the word, a bastard who just lost the closest thing he had to a father… 

That wasn’t an option either. No one wanted to hear that story. 

It wasn’t fair for Valen to feel this much grief over a man he hadn’t seen in more than ten years that died half a world away. Mr. Carey hadn’t been his _ family. _ Valen had been a tall, skinny, red-headed bastard that used to run away to his farm to hide. A burden and another mouth to feed. A secondhand child. 

Rose’s and Eileen’s great-aunt back in Ireland had insisted on a small service. Rose had tried to break it to him as softly as she could, but the fact remained. 

He wasn’t family. He wasn’t invited. 

_ Valen had been listening through the cracks in the floorboards. _

_ ‘He’s a smart lad. Does sums in his head wit’out hardly thinking.You should see what he makes in the workshop, Joe.’ Mr Carey had told Valen’s foster father, ‘send him to school to get his learning.’ _

_ ‘That boy hasn’t the brains for school. He’s an idiot as sure as he’s breathing. If he isn’t satisfied wit’ the life I’ve givin him, then he is welcome to leave!” _

Valen swallowed the memory down with a mouthful of whiskey. Morning couldn’t come soon enough for him. He could work himself until he fell over tomorrow, leave his thoughts in the bleeding grooves of his hands, let them sit in the aches of his muscles.

Until then, he’d numb them with the bite of strong whiskey. He didn’t have another option. 

Valen slid his eyes over to Shine. Tan skin dusted in glitter like fresh snow over the peaks of mountains. A soft smile that rose to the surface without any doubt. Conversation that was tethered to no anchors, stumbled over no boulders in the road, uninhibited. 

Maybe there was another option. 

No one had said that Valen had to drink alone. If he wanted a distraction, he sure found one in Shine. Somehow Valen had walked into a bar and found the human opposite of building a table. Shine made Valen think he was hearing his favorite song for the first time. It didn’t make sense to him in the least, not yet, but maybe it would soon. 

He’d take that with grace, please and thank you. 

“Mr, uh, Shine.” Lord have mercy, Valen could hear his own awkwardness. “It is very kind of you to offer your ear. Honestly, though, the best favor you could be doing for me right now is to do all the talking for me. The distraction would be a blessing.” 

** _March, 1986_ **

“Listen to me yammering on,” Shine said, twirling his fork, “tell me what’s new in the world of Valen D, master of the universe.” 

Valen smiled and kept his eyes on his plate. He trailed the asparagus through the white garlic sauce, over the painted violets on his secondhand china.

“Nothing interesting. Work, mostly. Trying to get ahead as much as I can.” Valen nodded to Shine’s hand. “That’s a new gold ring.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Shine chided, “Don’t you spin this back on me. I can’t eat this fuckin’ amazing chicken when I’m talking.” He scooted his chair in just a smidge closer. “Tell me about that rollie top desk you mentioned.” 

Valen ran his fingers over the table’s polished surface. It wasn’t_ his _ dining table, it was _ a _ dining table. Shine insisted on sitting at a different showpiece every time they had dinner. Tonight, he had chosen a dramatic nine-foot long banquet table. Thankfully, he had also decided to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with Valen. 

“Yes,” Valen replied. He had been taught never to talk about himself unless expressly asked. Shine always asked. “It’s a lovely oak piece. I’m enjoying the design — its very technical.” He kept it short and sweet. 

“What about the decorating and such?” Shine asked. Valen figured he was being polite.

“Hand lettering some banker’s initials.” Lettering was his favorite. It was all neat angels and measured spaces. 

“That must be a relief from that big fuck-off headboard you did last week!” Shine cheered. Valen couldn’t believe Shine had been listening. No, that wasn’t right. He was sure that Shine listened to him because he was a good person, but that he cared enough to ask over Valen’s work? That was less believable.

Shine asked, “How many flowers did you carve into that thing, anyway?”

“18,250 jasmine flowers,” Valen replied, allowing himself to feel that pride.

“Why such a specific number?” Shine asked, shoveling half his chicken into his cheeks. Valen paused to appreciate the sight.

“It is a flower for every day of fifty years of marriage. I bit myself in the ass, though. Told the man that I would make every flower unique, just like every day would be when one is in love.” Valen answered, “Old bugger wanted roses. Thankfully I could talk him into the traditional flower of a fifty-year anniversary.” 

“That jasmine, then?” 

“Yes. Normally I get the 5th anniversary. That’s the traditional ‘wood’ one.” Valen answered. 

Shine sat up in his seat. “Shit, there's a wood anniversary?”

“Traditionally, anyway. The modern one must be a boombox or something,” Valen groused. 

“I gotta remember that for November 9, 1990.” Shine seemed to realize what he said only after it was out. Instead of retreating, he leaned in. “You know any good woodworkers in town I could call up?” 

“Now let me think,” Valen said, scratching at his hair. A fine dusting of sawdust shook loose out of his tangles. “Nope, can’t think of a damn one.” 

Shine’s laugher fluttered up from inside him. It may have been a joke, but it still made Valen’s stomach churn with possibilities. Shine was planning on staying for the next five years? Every time Valen stepped back and realized he had _ Shine _ as a _ boyfriend _, it made him feel like he had just missed a step in a staircase. Valen was suspended in that breathless second before he began to tumble. 

What would five years look like? Ten? Would he be kissing Shine as the ball dropped in Times Square and the world rose into a new millennium? 

Shine reached across the table and offered his hand, palm up, for Valen to hold. 

Valen extended a hand—

_ — no elbows on the table, boy — _

And took Shine’s hand up in his. It was a simple touch. 

Shine said, “now tell me what’s been on your mind that _ ain’t _ work related.” 

Valen blinked. Why would he ever think that Shine would want to hear about — 

“Whoa there, big guy!” Shine spilled out in a rush, “I didn’t mean it like that. I was thinking about you last night, and all…” He flashed a smile, “and last week, and this morning, and all day yesterday.”

Valen’s cheeks began to heat and he looked down into the swirls in the wood table.

“Point is, I was thinking about how you’re always thinking.” His hand squeezed a little tighter. “I don’t think there is a moment where you don’t got gears turnin’ in your head.” 

Valen didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing. He settled into a safe silence. Within that space lived the echo of, ‘_ the boy hasn’t the brains for school _.’ 

Shine continued through it, “You got more going on in there then math and numbers. You got what Martha calls ‘emotional intelligence,’ ya know, like, Einstein-levels of it. Like when you looked after Destiny's little nieces and you were lettin’ em braid your hair. You was so good with those kids and I went home and I cried for like, three hours.” 

Valen’s eyebrows knitted together, “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

Shine waved his fork in the air, “Please, don’t be. I got three songs outta that particular emotional breakdown. Though I doubt that the one with the chorus 'good people are really real and I tricked one of ‘em into dating me’ followed by me crying into a microphone is gonna be a hit single.” 

Valen hummed out a laugh. If there was anyone who could cry with rhythm, it was his beloved. 

Shine’s thumb brushed Valen’s rough fingers, “Dating is about getting to know each other, right? And this is a non-pressure-related reminder that we have to get to know each other first before ya fuck me. And I do want— _ oh goddamnit that came out all wrong _— I want to know you for a million other reasons, too. Fuck, don’t overthink that will you?” 

Valen wouldn’t. He instead focused on the violets on the plate, the puckering of brown before the flash of purple, like Shine’s hair. Valen’s foster father would throw plates at his head if the meal was too salty, too warm, too cold. The sound of a plate shattering against the wall, crisp and clear, followed by the hours spent cleaning up the mess. 

Focus. _ Listen _. 

Shine waited until Valen met his eyes before he continued, “You can tell me about how you’re feeling. After Harry, you were there for me and — What I'm sayin' is you can be angry. Or — or frustrated or grumpy or rude or whatever. Mostly, I just want you to know that when you’re with me you can be_ sad _.” 

** _November 1985_ **

“You never told me way youse was sad,” Shine slurred around a mouthful of buttered toast. One elbow was propped up on the lip of the toilet seat, the other limply held his fourth piece of toast. Shine’s leather-clad legs spilled out over the floor like the flowers of a fallen vase. 

“It would have ruined your good time,” Valen answered. He was leaning against the bathroom door, watching over Shine as he sobered up. Thank Jesus for that, Valen didn’t know how much more flirting he could take from the little fellow. 

Shine’s head bobbed to the side, “I was hopin’ you’d be my good time tonight, ya know.” He tried to wolf whistle but all that came out were crumbs. He crumbled up his nose, “Hey, why ain’t we fucking right now?” 

“Because you’re drunk off your ass,” Valen answered, probably for the tenth time that night. 

Shine narrowed his eyes at him, “Then why am I wearing your fuzzy flannel shirt?” He said, as if he had caught Valen in a lie and they were, in fact, fucking each other right now.

Valen sighed, “because you threw up all over yourself and my jacket outside of the bar.” He tossed his head over his shoulder, “and again in your kitchen.” 

It was a frigid November night out there. The least he could do for the sick kid was to offer him one of his own many, many layers during the cab ride home. He felt desperately naked in his pleated khakis and long johns. 

Shine took a big bite of toast and nodded sagely, “Yeah, that sounds like something I’d do.” 

Valen had promised Louis, the bartender down at Bettie’s, that he would get Shine home safely sometime after the fourteenth Mai Tai. Valen hadn’t been expecting what that would all mean before his night was through. 

Valen had sat Shine down next to his toilet bowl, started their clothes in the washer, and scrubbed the titles of Shine’s kitchen floor. As he did, he made a midnight dinner of toast to sober Shine up the best he could. 

If what he had wanted was a distraction from his troubles, Lord’s Mercy, Valen had found it. It wasn’t how Valen had planned on spending his night, but if he had to be honest with himself, there was a part of him that was _ adoring _ this. He felt useful again. _ Needed, _even if all he could offer was a plate of toast and a load of laundry. It was important for a man like him to feel useful now and again.

A faint ‘ding’ came from the spare room. 

“Ah, that must be our jackets.” He turned to Shine. “Will you be alright for a few moments?” 

Shine shook his head, “No, don’t go. You only just got here. Stay wit’h me. I might be drunk. N-need a big strong guy to take care of me.” 

Valen placed a hand on the doorknob, “I’ll be a few, don’t worry.” 

He could hear Shine’s high-pitched whine after he closed the bathroom door. Poor Shine, if he remembered anything from tonight, he was going to be mighty embarrassed that he did all this flirting with someone like Valen. With any luck, all Shine would have to regret tomorrow was the hangover. 

Valen cleared the master bedroom and made his way into the high-rise’s main room. This apartment was an honest carpenter’s worst nightmare. Valen couldn’t suffer plastic chairs and clashes of bright neon. 

There was a good reason his work was called _ timeless _ and _ classic. His work was meant to sit together in harmony. _This? This looked like a civil war broke out between warring clans of clowns, and this was the trophy room. Someday in the future, Shine would look back on this and realize that his choices were poor ones. 

He took a breath and reminded himself that it wasn’t polite to judge someone else’s tastes. Even if those tastes for faddish, gaudy, garish, and downright tacky. 

_ Be polite, boy. May come a day where all you’ve got is manners to spare. _

He paused at the threshold of the spare room to look over a massive floor-to-ceiling piece of artwork. That is to say that it was in a frame, the ‘art’ itself was a single purple smudge in the middle of a white canvas. 

It probably cost the little fellow millions. 

“Fuckin’ hell, we need to bring back the guillotine.” Valen whispered to himself. What was wrong with a nice pastoral? Maybe some deer going about their deer business in some snowfall? 

Shine’s washer and dryer set looked like it fell off the space station, huge and leering. Valen had dismantled bombs with less apprehension. He pulled his jacket out of the dyer and shook loose body glitter that had collected in nodes in the folds. Oh well, at least Valen would leave tonight shimmering in the streetlights. He found Shine’s jacket and hung it up in the closet and tossed his own over the couch; he’d shrug it on before he left. For now, he had to put the little guy to bed.

Shine’s face was down in the toilet bowl by the time Valen got back. He lifted his head as Valen entered. “Hello gorgeous.” He smiled a slick grin.

“Not feeling well?” Valen asked, “You look downright green.” 

“I yucked again.” Shine’s face twisted up and he looked down into the water. “Ya worked so hard on the toast and — _ fuck, _ I'm sorry.”

“Nothing to worry about.” Valen scooped up the glass of water from the floor and passed it over to Shine. “Here, finish this and we will get you to bed, alright?” 

Shine tossed back the rest of the water and gave the empty glass back to Valen, “Bed? _ Togethe _r? Hey hey hey, now that I'm sobering up, we gonna fuck?” 

“No,” Valen said, offering him a hand to get off the floor. 

“How about I just suck your dick then?” 

“I hate to break it to you, Shine, but you ain’t getting nowhere near my willie.” Valen gave in flat reply, hauling him to his feet. 

Shine swayed on his feet, “I'm an _ international _ sex symbol, ya know.”

Valen rubbed his back, “Sure you are.” He said, and began the laborious work of half-dragging-half-lifting Shine all the way to the master bedroom.

“Are you really real?” Shine asked as Valen plopped him down on the bed.

“Nope, I am an illusion.” 

“That’s a pity. I’d really like to see you again. You’re my type and I wanna be yours, too. I'll getcha tickets to Carnegie Hall, kay? I’ll get to see you again,” Shine said with the kind of clarity of purpose that only drunk people and toddlers seem to have. 

Valen’s face heated up, his stray moles floating on top like basil seasoning in tomato soup. There was a slight difference between being sexually approached and setting up a date. He was no one’s type; he was Valen, _ typeless _. 

He deferred, “I’m a bastard, trust me.” 

Shine shook his head, puckering his lips. “Nope, I know bastards, you ain’t one of 'em.” He moved quickly for a drunk guy, snatching up Valen’s wrist and holding it gently, “Stay until morning. Please, I don’t wanna be alone.”

The contact sent static up Valen’s arm. He stumbled over the realization that it had been _ years _ since anyone had touched him. Not since he had left Rose’s place for New York City five years ago and that had been no more than a hug from a foster cousin. This felt like Shine was tearing off a lifetime of calluses around him.

“I — I can’t, Shine.” Valen ground out from the back of his throat. 

Shine threw himself backwards onto the bed. “This is some _ bullshit _ irony,” he grumbled, “everybody wantin’ to use me up like Kleenex, 'cept the hottest piece of ass I ever seen.” He lifted his head. “That’s you, by the way.” 

“I gathered.” Valen crossed his arms over his chest, “May I have my shirt back now?” 

Shine groaned, “What if I wanna keep it?”

“There is a very good chance you won’t remember this come morning,” Valen explained, “and I want you to have the peace of mind to know we haven’t done anything untoward. Leaving my clothes behind doesn’t look good.”

Shine’s head lulled on the ball of his neck like a marble in a jar. “I'm sober enough to do something, uh, _ towards _, if ya wanna.”

“No you’re not.”

“Prove it.”

“What’s two plus two?”

“Twenty-two!” He blinked, “Wait, fuck!”

“I am going to get you some aspirin,” Valen said with some finaility, and only let himself laugh once he was out of earshot. He’d be hoarse from the laughter he tried to keep in his throat all night. Intentionally or not, Shine had a quick and funny character. Too bad Valen wouldn’t get to know that side of him more. No point in feeling sorry about it. There was a task at hand, and Valen was inclined to see it through. 

There were so many beauty products in Shine’s medicine cabinet that it took him much longer than expected to find a simple bottle of aspirin. What was a lad doing with jars of sulfuric sludge, anyway? Next stop, the kitchen for a glass of water.

When he returned, Valen found his shirt hanging over one of the bed posts. There wouldn’t be more debate, that was a relief. He’d have hated prying it off of Shine. He tossed his old flannel over his shoulder as he passed.

Valen moved around the wide bed and set the four aspirin down on the bedside table. As he scouted the surface for the cluttered table for a coaster, one of the scraps of paper caught his eye. There was a pencil sitting on top. Shine must have scribbled it down just before he had passed out. 

_ Hey you sober fuck _ , the note started. _ I hope you remember the redhead cuz hot damn. _

_Don’t Forget!!!_

If Valen had pearls to clutch, now would be the time. He hadn’t ever been a ‘hot’ anything. Not ‘hot buns,’ or ‘hot stuff,’ least of all ranked among those that inspired the words ‘_ hot damn _.’ Shine had made it very clear all night that he was attracted to Valen. It made very little sense that seeing it in writing would weigh so much more. And yet it did. 

Maybe it was because he mentioned Valen’s hair. Or maybe because he took the time to remember Valen at all. 

Valen read on, 

_ He aint a creep promise. And hes funny and quiet and and he didnt fuck you. Me. us. He didn’t FUCK us. He paid for the cab. CALL CLAUDIA SHE MIGHT BE WORRIED. Even tucked me in. Chivry — _ Valen hoped that meant “chivalry.” — _ aint dead. GET HIM TIX TO CARN. YA PROMISED. _

Funny.

Quiet. 

Chivalrous.

That’s wasn’t what Valen saw in himself. 

Valen had no idea what Carnegie Hall was. He had pictured the wing of a library or a gymnasium at a local high school. Shine had been so proud when he spoke of it; Valen would never turn down tickets. If offered, he would accept, and it would absolutely not be because Shine looked at him and thought he had been funny. 

It would be polite, that’s all. Not because he was a hot-damn-red-head. 

Shine would find out that he was nothing much to look at when he saw him again. It was a pity, because Valen had spoken more tonight than he had in months, maybe years. He seemed to have spent a lifetime’s allowance on laughter all in one place, on one person, and believed it was worth it.

It had been one of the worst nights of his life, and here he was, with his grief soothed by a Queens accent and a toothy smile. What a magnificent thing Shine would be if he ever _ tried _to care for Valen —

_ He’d be beautiful— _

_ And you’d never deserve it. You can’t expect others to take care of you. _

_ I hope you remember the redhead, ‘cause hot damn— _

_ Tell me why you’re sad, big guy. _

He shook his head to clear it. Valen wanted to see him again, too. He knew it in perfect sobriety. 

He looked at that tuft of purple hair. “It wouldn’t hurt to help you out, hmm?” Valen said to him. First time all night the little fellow had no words in return, and even then, he was snoring. 

He found the pencil nearby and added the note, ‘_ Name’s Valen _ ’ in an empty space above ‘ _ Don’t forget _!!!’ And if he was going to go see Shine play violin in a school gym, Shine would need Valen’s number. He jotted down the store’s direct line at the bottom. 

He’d stay home from the farmer’s market tomorrow and hope against hope for that call to come in. 

Valen didn’t know what shape his life would take if he invited another person to share in it. For the first time in his life, he wanted to try. He wanted to see Shine again, in any face he wanted to show him. A friend, a beau, sober and drunk, happy or sad. Valen wanted to see every one. 

** _March, 1986 _ **

Shine’s face was coated in a layer of green sludge that smelled strongly of sulfur. Whatever it was, Shine kept a jar of it in Valen’s medicine cabinet so he could slough off the foulness of the city when he stayed over at the studio. 

Shine stood in front of Valen’s cracked bedroom mirror, his spare toothbrush in his mouth, bottom bouncing in time with a song only heard inside his head. He bent, spit, and then caught Valen staring at him in the reflection of the mirror. Valen didn’t flinch away, instead he gently raised his smile.

“You’re staring,” Shine smiled back at Valen’s reflection. “You think I’m sex-y.”

“You’ve a song in your head.” Valen replied, “one of yours?” 

Shine turned to face him. “Oh yes. A one-hundred-percent Shine original. Wanna hear it?”

Valen took a few steps forward and tugged at the tie of Shine’s fleece robe. “I am your captive audience.” 

Shine began to sway and hummed in perfect pitch a tune that Valen actually recognized. He snapped his fingers and started to sing,

“Valene, Valene, Va-lene, _ Vaa-leeenee _,” Shine belted out, tossing his head back to really bounce the lyrics off the dull grey tiles. 

“No,” Valen chirped. He knew he had already lost. Shine continued to the tune of Dolly Parton’s _ Jolene, _

“Your beauty is beyond compare —”

“No its —” Valen tried to argue over a singing voice that could hold a massive concert hall to attention.

“— With flaming locks of auburn hair —”

“Reddish brown, really —” Valen protested over him. 

“With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green. Your smile is like a breath of spring—”

Valen took Shine’s wrist in hand in a feeble attempt to get him to stop, “Please, Sh_ ine _!”

Shine responded by lifting Valen’s hand high and twirling underneath it. “Your voice is soft like summer rain,” he sang, motioning towards the rain above them. Then he began to dance, trying his best to get Valen to join him. All Valen could do was remain pliable and let his boyfriend do with his limbs what he will. 

Shine sang out for the world to hear while willing that large, awkward body in his arms to dance with him, “And I cannot compete with you, Va-_ lene _!”

** _November, 1985_ **

Valen had never danced in his life. The lie he told himself was that he never wanted to, though he knew it was because he had never had the occasion to be asked. 

When Valen spoke, he was sure to surround his deep baritone with suede and cotton. He couldn’t be loud, couldn’t take up more space that he already did. It was not as if he had anything worth saying, anyway. 

The last person to see so much as his exposed collarbone had been himself, fresh out of the shower, and even that had been an accident.

Valen felt as if he existed on the outside of the rest of the world. Forever trapped in the corner of the eye, a life lived in the periphery. Every morning he shaved, dressed, and worked. Every evening he made dinner for two, one plate for him and leftovers for the stray cat in the alley. At night he went to bed with the latest book he got from the library. 

There was no variation. Valen had convinced himself that he preferred it that way. His life was perfect corners and level table tops. 

Except tonight, when he sat in a balcony seat of Carnegie Hall with violets and lilies in his lap. His date for the night was on the stage below, singing and slicing his electric violin, all while gyrating to the synthesized beat. He danced as if the rules of gravity applied to him as much as the rules of modesty. A flowing silk blouse, necklaces glittering in the stage lights, and leather pants so tight that Valen didn’t need a dirty imagination. Valen couldn’t dance sitting down. He had no idea how Shine could do it in five-inch boot heels. 

What was Valen doing here? He had expected rows of plastic chairs on the halfway court of the YMCA. A little place, populated by old folks out to hear classical music. Not this. Not —

Thousands of hands reached out for Shine like flowers that ached for the sunlight. Valen watched as all those hands grasped at the empty air, aching for Shine.

Fireworks burst across the stage in pin-punctures of bright light. With them came a second’s life worth of memories and Valen had to remind himself to breathe. It wasn’t an explosion on the street. It was a show — they were screams of surprise and joy. Everything was fine, he should focus on the stage, it was why he was here.

Valen dropped his eyes and realized that he was rubbing the place on his wrist where Shine had grabbed him the night before. Two days later, and he could still feel the row of fingers pressed into the dips in his joints. 

It was becoming abundantly clear that Shine could have anyone in this theater — _ hell, _ maybe the whole city. 

Valen hated to look at the crowd below him, all dancing and screaming as if the fall of Rome was all a party. Complete with fiddler.

A woman in the crowd below swung her brassiere over her head. Once she got enough momentum going, she tossed it in a neat arch over the heads of hundreds of people, where it landed neatly on stage and directly in front of Valen’s ‘date’ for this evening. 

_ Why would a lass do that? _ Valen’s brain blinked. _ How is she going to get it back? What would her mother say? _

Shine kicked up eddies of confetti and glitter. “Well now, what’s this?” He said to the wayward bra. For a second there, Valen thought that Shine was going to give it back to her.

No.

No, he popped it on his head as if it were a Sunday bonnet. 

Somehow Valen, quiet and polite Valen, had found the loudest man on the planet. 

** _March 1986_ **

“Do ya hear that, big guy?” Shine said, his voice hardly audible as he pressed it deeper into Valen’s chest. They had settled in after dinner together on the upstairs couch. First came Shine, slotted against Valen’s body, then a half dozen blankets to beat back the cold night air. 

Valen paused, heard nothing but the rain and the crackle of thunder. “No?”

“Exactly,” Shine sighed, “No sirens wailing, no street hawkers, no drunks. I didn't know it was possible in this city. Nuttin’”

Shine laid his head over Valen’s chest, near enough that Valen could smell the delicate lavender scent of Shine’s shampoo. Shine’s hand rested on Valen’s forearm and gently flexed in protest of the thunder encroaching on their moment together. 

“Can we lay like this for a while?” Shine asked, as if he were asking Valen for some grand, impossible thing. 

“We can lay like this all night, if you’d like.” Valen replied. 

“I know it ain't silent-_ silent. _ But it's about as close as we get here. I wanna soak it up with you.” 

Shine rooted into him even deeper and let out a muffled sigh of happiness. Valen wanted to wrap his arms around that warm body against his and press him as close as two bodies could be. He wanted to melt into him. For a brief moment as Shine’s hot breath sunk into his chest, Valen _ wanted him _. 

_ They were standing in Shine’s kitchen. “You mean you ain’t — never? Women? Men? No one?” The disbelief in his voice — _

_ Valen would _ not _ make excuses. “I’m not ashamed.” He replied. He wasn’t ashamed, he was terrified. Only date three, and he wanted Shine to be the right person so badly —- _

“I can hear your gears turnin’, big guy.” Shine said more as a question.

Shine was too good to him already, allowing Valen the space he needed to get comfortable with the idea of sharing his body with someone. He didn’t need to hear Valen rehash his worries all over again, least of all in a moment so rounded in its perfection. 

He couldn’t allow the question to go unanswered, either. 

“Thinking about how you could have possibly made it this far with a singing voice like a pair of clown shoes in a blender.” Valen teased. 

“Shut up, you!” Shine playfully slapped his chest, “I can sing like angels.” 

Shine could sing magnificently, but Valen couldn’t let him have_ everything _, could he? “If they had strep throat, maybe.” He smiled down at him, “and if they were in a blender.”

Shine laughed, “Just for that, I’m gonna —” 

Above them, a bright flash of lighting, followed immediately with a crash that shook the glass in the window frames. Shine’s fingers curled into claws in reflex. The wires drained of life in a dramatic _ boooosh _, and all the lights in the room went dark. 

“Oh god_ damnit _, fuck me,” Shine groaned into Valen’s chest “can those fuckers over at Con Ed ever do their damn jobs?” 

That was an extreme reaction, even for Shine. Valen knew when the lad was playing up the dramatics, and now he actually sounded scared. 

Valen stroked the back of Sine’s neck. He should ask if Shine was alright, but he stumbled on the honesty of it. “If you let me up, I’ll find us a torch.” 

Shine huffed out a laugh. “Finally gonna storm that Frankenstein’s castle, huh?’ 

“What?” Valen sighed, “Oh, damn. I meant a flashlight. I can get us a _ flashlight _, beloved.” 

Shine’s fingers curled into him deeper, harder, more possessive, “Yeah? And how are you gonna see in the dark?” 

Valen shifted to hold up his wrist and the prize he had strapped to it, his calculator watch. He pressed the button on the side, and Shine’s face lit up in a faint white light. The shadows exaggerated his arched eyebrow. 

“You’re wearing that dumb nerd watch I got you,” Shine said, though there was a waiver to his words. 

“Dumb? It’s a calculator watch. It’s smarter than you are,” Valen teased.

The air around Shine shifted and he slid up, kissing at Valen’s neck, “Yeah? Well, the only way you’d let me buy you a nice watch was if the little fucker did math.”

Valen’s blood rushed to his cheeks, “And for that, I am very grateful.”

“Why don’t you stay here with me, hmm?” Shine asked, pausing to kiss Valen deep on the mouth. Shine’s hand pressed hard against the plane of skin just above his cock. Valen jolted under him, a flint-spark of panic that caught on tinder long left to dry. Valen regretted it immediately. He knew enough about himself to know what he wanted, but that didn’t mean he was ready. 

“Whoa, whoa, sorry, big guy,” Shine soothed him. “It was just a suggestion.” 

“Just give me a moment —” Valen swallowed his breath. It went down his throat like balls of cotton. 

“No problem.” Shine replied. A pause, “how about you find that flashlight, huh?” Shine lifted himself up and away from Valen’s body. Valen hated that relief that rushed through him once Shine’s warmth pulled away from him. Almost as much as he regretted the loss.

Shine was too good to him when he didn’t deserve it. Shine should be with someone who wasn’t terrified to give him what he wanted — someone he _ deserved _—

No, _ stop, _ Shine liked him, despite. For once in his life, Valen should be _ grateful. _

Well, there was nothing to do now that he had gone and embarrassed himself. Might as well make himself useful. Valen wrapped the blankets around Shine a little snugger until Shine looked like the Madonna herself. With the heat down too, it was about to get even colder. Valen left Shine on his old plaid couch as he got up to find his toolbox. 

Valen used the glow of his watch to guide him around the space of the couch and towards the center of the little spare room. He could feel Shine’s eyes following him.

“I hate blackouts,” Shine said from that empty darkness over Valen’s shoulder.

“I had a notion you did,” Valen replied. He knelt and tossed back the woven rug in the middle of the room. “Any reason why that is?” 

“I was running around in the streets back in ‘77, ya know. Don’t think there was a moment I wasn’t high that whole year, especially that summer.” Shine said. He tried to come across as nonchalant, but didn’t quite bring it through.

Valen thought back; in 1977 he would have been 21 and in the crossfire. He wasn’t paying much attention to international affairs on the evening news.

“Remind me what happened in 1977?” Valen asked. 

_ He’ll think you’re an idiot — _

_ — he won’t — _

_ You should know. Do better. _

He heard Shine sink deeper into the blankets, “That was the New York blackout _ — _ hell’va night. I was what, only just 18? I was into the hard shit back then. Heroin, mostly. But like, you know, didn’t turn anything down.” 

Valen found the edge of the false floor and pried it open with the barest edge of his fingers. He had seen Shine’s scars, tired not to think of the pain that must have led him to press poison into his skin. He could only be here for him now. 

“What happened?” He asked. 

“Imagine taking the hardest hit of your life, black tar in a spoon, and just when you’re startin’ to feel like nothin’s even_ real _, all the lights around you blink out,” Shine continued. “Ya shamble outside after a while, and looters are smashing windows and setting shit on fire. Ain’t no light at all ‘cept the fire. City looked naked without the lights on. People was trapped in the subway, you know? Thousands of ‘em. Mostly I feel bad for those poor fucks that got trapped in elevators.” 

That would be one of Valen’s personal nightmares. Trapped with strangers in a closed, dark space? He’d risk climbing up the cables several hundred stories rather than make small talk. 

“Where were you?” Valen ventured. Shine seemed to want to talk and Valen needed to ask.

“I was in one of the nicer drug houses by Bushwick. At least, I think so. Like I said, I was really fucking out of it.” Shine replied. His voice was low, dampened by the rain on the roof. “I had this sort-of girlfriend at the time. Zilphia, from Clear Creek, Mississippi, population six hundred. I’ll never forget her saying that, neither.” He put on a low, rolling southern accent, “Pop-_ u _ -lation six-hun _ dred. _” Shine sighed into his blanket, “She ran away from home to star on Broadway. What a fucking cliché, right? But she could’a done it. She taught me how to carry a tune.” 

Valen found the handle of a square, heavy box sunken into the hidden compartment in the floor. He got a good grasp on it, lifted it up with a grunt, and set it off to his side. 

“You keep your flashlights in the floor, there, big guy?” Shine asked, his tone swinging like a pendulum.

“Not exactly,” Valen returned. He lined up the combination lock and clicked it open. “I keep my emergency kit in this fireproof box.” He patted the top. It only hit him just then that having an emergency box hidden in his floor might be a bit _ odd. _ Too late now, he supposed. 

“Uh-huh.” 

Valen removed the tightly compacted canvas roll from the case, undid the string, and let it unravel across his wooden floor. Metal clattered together in a duet with the thunder.

Valen thumbed around and found one of the large, industrial sized flashlights tucked into a pocket. He flipped on the heavy switch and light speared through the room. He handed it out to Shine’s outstretched hand. 

“Now let’s see what you’ve got in this kit, huh?” Shine asked, dropping the beam of light onto the floor. It panned slowly over the glass goggles of Valen’s gas mask, the cylinder of the water purifier, the silver foil of emergency rations. 

“Huh. ‘Course you’re a crazy prepper. Naturally.” Shine said. He paused. Then, in a slightly higher pitch: “Big guy, is that your passport and a coupl’a hundred in Canadian bills?” 

Valen cleared his throat, “That isn’t necessarily _ my _ passport, as it were. I can’t exactly admit to having a legal one, or an _ illegal _one at that, if the government goons have this room bugged.” 

Shine made a face, one that was sculpted into shadows by the light in his hands.

“You, uh, have many fake passports?” Shine asked slowly.

“Ten of them, if I am to be honest.”

Shine choked, “A-and where are they?”

“In the other ten boxes I have in the floors and ceilings of other rooms.” Valen furrowed his brow. “You mean to say you don’t have an emergency kit? I can put one together for you, if you’d like.” 

Shine gaped at him. “You are giving me the _ weirdest _ boner right now.”

Valen shook his head and tried to hide his blush. He knelt to his pack on the floor and removed the candles from a large tin box, “You don’t make a lick of sense, you know that, Shine?” He struck up a match, and the candle in his hand took to the flame.

** _November, 1985_ **

A candle flickered at the center of the cafe booth’s table. It danced with Shine’s movements, following the call of his wide gestures. Valen couldn’t help but notice how the light curved around Shine’s hands, snagging at the rough patches where skin had met violin string. He must have dedicated untold hours to refining the placement of his fingers, searching out a tune from where there was nothing but air. Valen could admire that in Shine. 

“Did you like the show?” Shine asked, almost carefully, unsure of himself. As if Valen’s opinion would dissolve the thousands of fans who had crawled on top of each other to get a better look at him. 

Valen wanted to jump up and yell, _ “There were fireworks! And flying bras! And pardon me, but I couldn’t help but notice, and excuse me if I am wrong, but you are _ fucking _ famous?!” _

But instead he said, “It was a grand time.” Valen’s hand tightened around the earthenware mug in his hands. Was it in his head that Shine looked nervous? That he was regretting this now that he saw Valen sober? 

“I thought_ — _ ” Shine started and bobbed his head, “I mean, like, you strike me as the kinda person who don’t _ do _ crowds, yeah?” 

“Very clever of you.” Valen said, smiling in reassurance, “I can hardly handle myself most days.” 

“Ha! So, the box seat all by your lonesome, that was a good call?”

“Delightful.” 

“Good view of yours truly?” Shine asked with a playful wiggle of his shoulders. 

“Phenomenal.” 

Shine drummed the side of the mug. “You really didn’t know I was a pop star, did you?”

All Valen had to hand was the truth, “No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t have recognized you on the street unless you were Glenn Miller or Dolly Parton.” 

He didn’t mention his love of Metallica. _ No one _ needed to know about Metallica. 

Shine’s smile lit up. “You’re a fan of Dolly’s, huh? Me too. I mean, hell, who ain’t? Fuckin’ idiots, that’s who.”

Valen remembered the posters adorning Eileen’s bedroom walls. The vinyls that spun circles in the Careys’ small corner bedroom. Rose used to tease her. A skinny Irish tomboy and the full-bodied blonde American country singer? ‘_ Hate to break it to you, sis, but you aren’t ever gonna be Dolly. _’ 

Eileen hadn’t wanted to _ be _ Dolly. She had wanted to _ date _ her. They would laugh about it now that they were older, now that Eileen had settled in with Dorothy. 

Should Valen tell that story? Would it make Shine laugh? Maybe it would be rude to talk about his little cousin when Shine had asked about something completely different. He hesitated. 

_ Eileen’s fists twisting into Valen’s flannel. Her sobbing, begging him not to tell anyone. Dolly in the corner of the bedroom softly singing, _“Back through the years, I go a’ wonderin’ once again,” 

_ He held his foster cousin for hours. That night, Valen was hit with the realization that he had never looked at anyone the way Eileen had confessed to looking at young Miss Claire up on the corner lane. _

No,_ focus. _ Answer his question, _ get out of your head _, Valen. 

Valen looked to Shine’s brown-gold eyes and smiled, “I like her ditties, yes.” 

Shine let out a snort of laughter, “Her ditties? You mean her titties? Shit, I don’t blame you.”

Valen felt the hair raise on his arm, “Of — of her country music ballads! Her _ songs _ ! I never considered her, uh, her _ you know. _” 

Shine laughed, but the mirth didn’t reach his tone. “I believe you. I can tell you’re a real good guy.” His eyes were distance and a pregnant pause fell between them.

Valen didn’t rightly know what he could say to that. “Um, thank you. I try my best, but there is always room to be a better man, I suppose.” 

It caused his date to flinch. “I clearly didn’t think this date through,” Shine said, unmistakably sad.

Valen’s stomach dropped. He felt the floor give way under him as if standing at the hangman’s noose. How did his first and only date go so badly so quickly? 

But Shine talked too much and too fast for Valen’s thoughts to gain a foothold. It was his best quality so far. Valen didn’t have the time to feel disappointed before Shine rambled on. 

“Y’see, I don’t think you’ve ever done so much as take a hit of Mary Jane in your whole life, big guy,” Shine said as a question. 

Valen drew himself up taller. “I would never hit someone out of anger! Least of all a woman!” 

Shine’s smile rose despite everything, “No, that’s weed — you know, marijuana — never mind, you answered my question.” There was more to say, but Shine waited to think it through. He thumbed at a small, sharp chip in his blue mug. Valen’s eyes stayed on that pass of his finger, again and again, over that one imperfection in the smooth baked clay. 

“Thing is, big guy, I can’t tell you that the drunk guy you met at the bar, the guy up on stage singin’ about blow and one-night stands — I can’t tell you that guy _ ain’t _ me,” Shine impressed upon him. “He _ is _ , yeah. But same time, that’s all some act. I’m Shine, but I’m not —” He waved his hands in some kind of grand gesture. “I’m not ‘ _ Shine _.’ Fuck me, this is impossible to explain.”

Valen honestly didn’t know what he would do if this bright, charming person was into heavy drug use. “What song was about cocaine?” He asked.

Shine flashed a smile, “What? Did you think _ Summer Snow Clouds _ was about a freak weather occurrence?” 

Valen swallowed hard, “I thought it was all a metaphor for the fleetingness of true happiness. And the tune was lovely.” 

Shine shook his head, “That’s what you picked up? Shit. I mean, _ yeah, _ that was the whole point of the damn song, but it is _ also _ about cocaine. See, that’s what I mean.” His hand reached out and gently blanketed Valen’s. Valen stiffened under the sudden contact, but Shine stayed with him.

“I am a fucking mess and I ain’t got no idea why you even came out tonight. Youse didn’t even know I was famous, for fuck’s sake! So why did you —” Shine stopped and huffed a breath, then drew back and tossed his hand “Alright, we’re startin’ over,” he said with finality. “Hello there, I’m Shine Trzebinski, part-time pop star and full-time idiot.” 

Valen only knew what was polite when it came to proper introductions. He offered him a hand and Shine took it up.

“Even’n Shine. I’m Valen Dougherty, woodworker by day, fantastic moron by night.” Valen said, pumping his hand. 

Shine let out the most honest peal of laughter that Valen had ever heard, “Oh! So we’s in the same business, yeah? Great!” Shine ran a hand through his purple hair, “Listen, Mr. D, cards out on the table here. I_ like _you. Do you think you could like me, too?” 

Valen couldn’t control the flush of heat to his cheeks, “I already do.”

Shine smiled. “Yeah? In spite of uh, you know. Everything?”

Valen nodded for lack of anything intelligent to say. Shine had a caring heart under the glamour. And Valen would be lying to himself if he said that Shine wasn’t beautiful. 

“Then whaddya say to a date sometime?” Shine asked. 

Clearly Valen had been wrong in thinking_ this _ was a date. If someone busted out the candles, then what was it? A power outage? Lord’s mercy, he was playing a game he didn’t know the rules to. That was the one thing he could be sure of. 

“What did you have in mind?” Valen asked.

Shine shifted in his seat, “I know a place in the city, 100 bucks a plate not counting drinks and dessert. More exclusive than if we was to get dinner on the moon. How about I treat you?” 

Valen got the impression that this was a trick question. He hoped he had the right answer, 

“I like cooking. Why don’t we stay in and I whirl something up for us both?” Valen offered. 

Shine blew a raspberry, “Oh come on! You’d be the first person ever to turn this down. Five-star chef, view of the whole town, so exclusive we might see Bowie having himself a cannoli?”

Valen hummed around his answer, “The only person to ever try my special blend of spaghetti sauce is me. Can you beat that exclusivity?” 

Shine gave him an open stare. For a moment Valen thought he hadn’t heard him.

“It’s a date then! You wanna cook for little ol’ me, then I won’t stop you!” Shine laughed, “How about my apartment? The kitchen’s big _ and _neglected.”

“Sounds grand.” Valen answered, relief flooding through. There was still a snag of uncertainty. He gently ventured. “May I ask if you still—?”

“Do drugs?” Shine finished for him, “No, don’t worry, I’m clean. That shit would’a killed me.”

** _March, 1986_ **

“She died,” Shine said softly. “Zilphia. Overdosed while the blackout was goin’ on, and she died there on a rotten plaid sofa. Two days ‘til the fucking cops got to her.” 

They were laying in Valen’s bed now, tangled together in a pocket of warmth, and bound only by the watery pools of candlelight. The stray cat, the one that Valen refused to name out of respect for her untamed spirit, snoozed soundly at their feet, thankful to be out of the rain. 

“I am sorry,” Valen replied with honesty. He could trust Shine to hear it, no matter how simply Valen said so. If all he had was three words, unpolished but still authentic, then Shine would see their worth. 

“I wrote a song about her,” Shine said, drawing circles with his index finger on Valen’s collarbone, “Remember _ ‘The Lights of New York’ _? I never play it at the shows. Folks can’t dance to the sad songs.” 

Valen remembered the song well enough. Second album, fifth song, 40 beats per minute. Lyrically it was one of Shine’s best works, in Valen’s amateur opinion. Shine spoke before he could answer, 

“I got it in my head that all the lights in New York died when she did. She may have been a stranger, but the city knew her, right? It — it mourned her. She didn’t have anyone else, not even me, really, in the end.” Shine said. 

Valen pressed on Shine’s shoulder, gingerly urging him closer into his hold. Shine complied, slipping on top of Valen as if he were stitched into the quilt. As much a part of this bed as the blankets and pillows that held them. 

“The worst of it is,” Shine started, letting his weight fall on Valen’s chest, “I ain’t even sad. I was so high and so fucked up, I can’t —” his voice broke, “I can’t remember her, ya know?”

“How do you mean?” Valen asked.

“I remember her being dead. But the rest? The drugs took that from me. She was beautiful, and real talented, and then she was dead. That ain’t how anyone should be remembered — a good girl that OD’ed in fuckin’ _ Bushwick _ . Every time the lights go out, I can’t help but go back there. It’s funny. Couldn’t get her out of my head, so I did _ more _ drugs.” In the darkness, with only a candle to chaperone, Shine let out a choked sob. “So, yeah. In case you was wondering why I’m scared of the dark.” The laughter that followed was hollow. 

Valen’s fingers tightened around him, and he was unsure of what to say. Should he speak about being a soldier? About how he was terrified of loud noises, or crowds? How every mistake he made, no matter how small, was at risk of sending him into a spiral that he couldn’t crawl out of? 

Shine hiccupped, “Listen to me whine. I bet you ain’t afraid of nothing, are you?”

There was one thing Valen was scared of above all the rest. 

_ I am afraid of you. _

Valen lifted Shine up on his every breath. Their hands were tangled loosely together. Valen’s body eclipsed Shine’s in size, cradling him as a riverbed would water. He could feel the smoothness of Shine’s skin under the thick padding of his thumb, exploring the ridges of Shine’s spine with the dedication of a cartographer.

When they lined themselves up this way, Shine’s smiles tattooed themselves on Valen’s skin. The pulse of his heart. The gentlest pass of Shine’s fingers over one of Valen’s scars, wordlessly assuring Valen that he wasn’t there then, but he was here now. 

There was no deeper way to love a person than like this. And Valen did love Shine, more so with every moment that passed in silence.

If there was a moment to say it, it was now._ I love you, Shine. _ But Valen was not as brave as his silhouette suggested him to be. 

So he hesitated. Shine spoke to him from hours before, with the warmth of the whiskey soaking into the memory. 

_ You can tell me about how you’re feeling. After Harry, you were there for me and — What I'm sayin' is you can be angry. Or — or frustrated or grumpy or rude or whatever. Mostly, I just want you to know that when you’re with me you can be _ sad _ . _

Valen took in a deep, stuttering breath. “I am terrified of the dark.”

“Bullshit, you trying to make me feel better?” Shine asked. 

“I’m not,” he responded. He needed to give context. “Mr. McGregor would lock me out of the house if I did wrong.”

“What an asshole,” Shine said. Bless him, Valen could always count on him for levity. 

“I remember feeling so cold I was sure I would freeze to death.” He explained, wetting his lips, “I would picture my fingers going black, my lips peeling back, my blood freezing solid. I was sure I would die and no one would be around to miss me, the red-headed bastard who didn’t have enough sense not to die.” Valen said. It felt like a bloodletting, but Shine needed to hear it. 

“Then came the Troubles and the nightmares. Then New York, with the sounds of sirens — Well, I mean to say, nights have never been the most comfortable for me, beloved.” Valen breathed in the lavender scent of Shine’s soft hair. “I am terrified of the dark,” he repeated. 

There was a drowning of silence around them, nothing but the rain and their breathing. 

“Oh. Ain’t I a big asshole for assuming,” Shine said, and it was enough to make Valen chuckle. “I thought — You know, you seem real put together is all. If I was Valen D, professional big guy, buildin’ tables and doin’ math and shit — all the shit you _ do _ — I wouldn’t be afraid a nothing.” 

Valen pressed a kiss into his beloved’s hair, “And if my name was Shine, I wouldn’t have a reason to be afraid of the dark. You’ll always be the brightest thing in the room, beloved.” 

“Ya know, when you say shit like that, you make me wanna buy you a bucket of diamonds,” Shine said, perhaps because there was nothing left to say.

Valen felt the smile tick in the corner of his mouth, “It’s going to have to wait. Diamonds are the 30th anniversary gift.” 

A pause. 

“Look out, November 2015.” 

** _November 2015_ **

Valen woke to a warm bath of morning light filling the cabin’s master bedroom. Shine was still softly snoring at his elbow, never one to rise early come sunrise or world-ending disaster. Valen was loathe to move, but he willed himself to meet the day with a brave face. 

Valen slipped his arm free of Shine’s weak hold and rolled over to check his watch. The little calculator watch, the first gift Shine ever gave to him, sat next to the champagne flute he had left on the bedside table the night before. He flicked on the light to check the time; 6:35 in the morning. 62 years old and he still rose with the morning light as if he had the farm to tend.

Valen considered sleeping in. He had a good excuse, after all, their 30th anniversary had been yesterday, even though the ring on his finger was no more than four years tarnished. It didn’t seem fair that they were robbed of over two decades of commitment. Last night, there had been revelry and slow, lazy love making without grand expectations. They weren’t as young as they used to be. 

He could bury himself in bed deeper next to the man he married. He could sleep away the sunrise. But, on second thought, coffee in bed with his book sounded grand. Valen might as well roll over and get the coffee maker brewing that fancy Columbian mix Shine liked so much. 

Valen set his feet to the floor and stretched. His spine popped and cracked like a kicking chorus line. The mirror on the opposite side of the bedroom caught his eye. Along his temples, Valen wore gray streaks that he considered proof of living with Shine for the majority of his life. 

It was an unusually cold November that year and Shine had slipped into Valen’s old flannel shirt as pajamas, and taken Valen’s huge robe for good measure. Valen had no choice but to toss Shine’s garish purple robe over his shoulders.

Valen padded down the staircase, descending back into the years they had shared. Along the wall were dozens of framed photo booth prints, a yearly catalogue of their visits to Coney Island. Among those were candid shots of Shine in his music room; one lovely photo of him out on the lake’s pier. Then Shine with two broken legs in his wheelchair on Eileen’s porch, looking far out over the emerald hills. 

As Valen passed those frames, he lived in those moments again. 

Their wedding at the same B&B where Shine had admitted he had fallen in love with Valen. 

The tabloid shot of Valen dipping Shine and kissing him deeply at the moment the world stepped into the new millennium. 

A _ Newsweek _ cover that was now faded, but Valen would never give it up, not after the years it had watched over his old workshop. 

Valen crossed into the kitchen that looked over the still surface of the lake. He had built this cabin with his own hands on these acres he could proudly call their own. The city and its troubles were far south of them.

With the coffee pot brewing, Valen leaned against the marble counter and looked out the floor-to-ceiling window. There had been a blizzard in the night, covering the world outside in a mantle of snow. A parcel of deer milled about the bird feeder, going about their deer business. 

Valen was still, and his mind mostly silent, save for one resounding thought. He could hear his own voice echo back to him that he was deeply and truly_ happy. _

Only when the coffee maker gently beeped as it finished did Valen that the time was flashing 12:00. Turning his attention across the kitchen, he noticed the oven’s timer was also blinking. At some point in the night, the power had gone out. 

Huh. They had lit countless candles last night to set a romantic mood — no wonder they hadn’t noticed. 

Valen poured himself a hearty mug of black coffee. He paired it with Shine’s favorite blue mug with the chip on lip. There was more creamer than coffee in Shine’s, just the way he liked it. 

On the kitchen table lay two empty champagne bottles and puddles of candle wax. Shine’s gift to Valen sat partially wrapped; a brand-new set of diamond-tipped etching tools. Three decades together, and Shine still said, “Now, big guy, I know how much you like to work with _ hardwood _…” 

Shine had never stopped flirting with him, and Valen had never stopped blushing. 

Valen climbed the stairs without spilling a drop of coffee along the way. He thought of nothing important as he went; where his reading glasses were, how long it would take to shovel the walkway.

It came as a surprise to see Shine sitting straight up in bed after Valen shouldered open the door. Mercy, but he was beautiful, even sleep-addled first thing in the morning. Beautiful in his white hair, purple tipped, and his deepening laugh lines, his permanent crows feet. 

He locked eyes with Valen and let out a heavy, relieved sigh.

“There you are!” Shine said. 

Valen got the impression that something had happened in the few moments he had been away. He lifted the mug up. “I was making the coffee. Is everything alright, Shine?” 

Shine reached out a hand and Valen passed him the mug, “Fine!” He looked up at him, “But don’t you dare leave me alone. Get back in this bed, you jerk.” 

Valen could do that. He came around the bed and took a seat next to Shine. Although Shine tried to hide it, Valen saw that his eyes were dewy.

“What’s the matter, beloved?” 

“I had this horrible dream.” He started, shaking his head, “I was a kid again and it was right after Carnegie Hall. I waited for you at the coffee shop, but you never showed up. I knew why and — _ fuck _.” 

Shine leaned heavily against his side, “Then I woke up and you wasn’t here. For a moment I thought this was a bad trip and I was 26 again and fucking alone.”

Valen aimed low, if only to lighten the mood. “As if you wouldn’t give anything to be in your 20s again.” 

Shine huffed, “Not you.” 

Valen wrapped his arm around his beloved, “Don’t you worry, you ain’t never getting rid of me.”

Shine snorted, “Big guy, why _ did _ you show up?”

“To the coffee date?”

“Yeah. Why’d you bother with me?”

Valen thought it over, “You really want to know?”

“_ Please _.”

All he had was honesty. Valen leaned in and pressed his lips hard against his love’s lips. It was a lazy, sloppy morning kiss, but it was one more kiss in a lifetime of perfect kisses. 

Valen whispered into Shine’s ear, quoting, “‘_ I hope you remember the red-head, ‘cause hot damn _.’”

And in the morning light they laughed and Valen recalled a night that he only half-remembered. 

_ “I’m a poor gift myself, but…” Valen had promised him, “I can give you a warm flannel shirt when you’re cold. A fresh cup of coffee on your bedside table in the morning. And, if you’ve been behavin’ yourself and especially if you haven’t, a sloppy good morning kiss.” _


End file.
